


You've Got a Friend in Me

by littlevalonquar



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 00:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8775346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlevalonquar/pseuds/littlevalonquar
Summary: A new case for The Honore Police Force leads them to discover more about themselves.Good ol fashioned who-dunnit, AU that completely denies the existence of season 3 or anything following. Set a few weeks after season two ends. There will be more chapters, not quite sure how many, but probably around 5.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work so I'm open to any suggestions!

Rain beat steadily on the roof of the station making it very difficult to focus on the file he was reading. Richard eyed the ceiling suspiciously. It had been constructed with the purpose of keeping out sunlight and heat - and if it failed at doing even that, he was sure that sooner rather than later it would give way to the rain. Of course, knowing his luck, the inevitable leak would spring right over his desk.

  
Not that he minded the rain. It was a welcome change from the insufferable, never-ending heat on the island. However he certainly didn’t fancy the idea of his person, not to mention most of his possessions, getting soaked. Nearly shuddering at the prospect of having to take off his jacket and tie, he chanced a surreptitious glance at the ceiling directly above him. It seemed dry enough. Not gathering pools of water or anything like that. He looked away, hopefully before any of the members of his team noticed. He could already imagine Fidel’s sincere assurances that the roof was perfectly sturdy, Dwayne’s ill-hidden amusement at his neurosis, and Camille’s….teasing? He supposed that was the only word for it. But, of course, he had been teased by his colleagues back at the Met and it that was not like Camille’s amused, needling comments. Her’s were more good-natured, he supposed, less-bullying and more...friendly. Friendly, yes. How odd to think. But that’s what they, what all of the team, had become. Friends.

  
Only a few weeks ago he had been back in London accompanying a suspect. It had been good to be home but there was something missing. While he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, he came to realize that it had something to do with his team, with their community. London was efficient and innovative, but also impersonal. So when the opportunity came to get his old job back - a few small comments to the right people were all that were needed, he was assured - he simply didn’t take it. He got on his return flight and went home.

  
And then they had lost his baggage again. Even when he was ready to make peace with the island it would never, it seemed, cease to exasperate him. They were inherently at odds.

  
Ah well. Hopefully a good case would turn up soon. It had been slow since his return, and this weather seemed unlikely to improve that, but there was always hope.

  
Suddenly a crack of thunder split the air. From the sound of it, it wasn’t too far off. Richard glanced up at the ceiling again.

  
“I thought you liked rain.” Camille’s tone dripped with amusement but her face, as he turned to look at her, was perfect wide-eyed curiosity.

  
“I do.”

  
“But you keep looking up at the ceiling like the rain is bothering you.”

  
“I do not.”

  
“You’ve looked up there three times in the last thirty seconds.”

  
“The roof is perfectly sturdy Chief,” said Fidel, as predicted. “It can withstand anything.”

  
“And this storm is not going to be anything. It’s not a hurricane, just a bit of rain. No need to worry,” Dwayne added helpfully.

  
“I’m _not_ worried. I _know_ it’s fine. And I _wasn’t_ looking at the ceiling.”

  
“You were.”

  
Richard sighed and massaged his face with his hands. “Haven’t you got anything better to do than look at me looking at the ceiling, _Sergeant_ Bordey?”

  
She smirked, apparently at her victory in getting him to admit what he was doing.

  
“I don’t think so, _Inspector_ Poole. You tell me.”

  
“Paperwork. That’s what I told you to do this morning.”

  
Camille threw her head back and rolled her eyes, looking as exasperated as he felt.

  
“That’s all we’ve been doing for two weeks. There’s nothing left to do.”

  
“Tell you what,” said Dwayne, standing suddenly, “How about I go pick us up some food for lunch. It’s about that time anyway.”

  
Richard suspected the his reasons for volunteering to do this were less than altruistic.

  
“I brought my own lunch. And besides you’ll be soaked.”

  
“Don’t worry, Chief, my treat. I’ll get you something you like. We need some cheering up with all this gloomy weather.”

  
“I’ll come with you!” said Fidel, also standing. “You’ll…..need help carrying everything.”

  
“Wait!” Richard said, putting up a hand. “How are you going to get anywhere? You’ll be soaked on the bike and you can’t take the Jeep or Camille and I will be stranded if there is an actual emergency.”

  
“We’ll walk,” said Fidel.  
“If there is an emergency, I’ll commandeer a car. I am a police officer, you know. I’m allowed to do that,”said Dwayne.

  
“Hmm.” Richard looked back and forth between them. They were obviously keen to go. And who could blame them? There was nothing to do here. Dwayne was probably already planning how to meet with one of his many _amores_ , and Fidel was no doubt eager to run home and see his wife and child.

  
“Well alright then. But be back…..” he spared a glance at his watch. Half past eleven. “Be back by three,” he said, just to inform them that he had no delusions that they were both going out to get lunch.

  
They beamed. “Thanks Chief,” said Fidel, and they were off.

  
Richard pretended to read his file for the umpteenth time but was still very distracted by the sound of the rain.

  
“Just us then,” said Camille after a moment or two. He looked up. She was not even remotely trying to pretend to work. Her feet were propped up on her desk - just to annoy him, he was sure- and her hands were folded neatly behind her head. She had taken her hair out of its tie so that it fell prettily - _no, messily_ \- around her face. He supposed she would try to get him to let her go as well.

  
“Yes, and before you say anything, no, I can’t let you leave too. We need to be ready if the phone rings.”

  
“I wasn’t going to ask to leave!” She sounded indignant.

  
“You were the one complaining about not having anything to do!” he replied, defensive.

  
“I said I didn’t have anything better to do than look at you,” she shot back.

  
“I….what? ” She was smirking again. He could feel a flush creeping up his face. He reached up to adjust his tie. He looked around to put on his jacket before remembering he was already wearing it. He did anything but meet her gaze. “So you’re just going to sit there looking at me?”

  
“Unless you have a better idea of what I could do,” she said with a shrug.

  
“Yes. Don’t look at me. Look at the ceiling if you want. Check for potential leaks.”

  
“So the rain is bothering you.”

  
“I’d just rather not have my workplace and...and belongings and things, and my person getting dripping wet,” he said raising his voice and standing. He wasn’t sure why. He went over to the fridge and took out his lunch.

  
He heard Camille’s voice from her desk behind him. The teasing was gone out of it. “It’s just that when you first came here you always talked about how it’s always raining in London. And I just thought that if now the rain is bothering you, then maybe you were more used to the sunshine on Sant’ Marie. That maybe you were starting to like it here better.”

  
Richard turned to look at her. Her expression was neutral but he had a sense that she was expectant, hopeful even. “Well. I mean of course I have gotten better adjusted. But you know this thing with the rain- In London you don’t have to worry about the damp getting in because they’ve got proper construction and everything-”

  
“Are you saying on Sant’ Marie we don’t know how to build properly?” She looked bewildered, maybe even hurt.

  
“No! No that’s not what I’m saying! I’m just saying that buildings in London are built with the expectation that they will have to withstand a lot of rain and here they aren’t-”

  
“Here they only have to withstand hurricanes,” she stated, defiantly.

  
“There are hurricanes in England as well! Oh but that’s beside the point. No!” she had opened her mouth to interrupt him again, “No, let me finish. I was going to say here they aren’t - the buildings I mean- aren’t as...as...protected. You know, all buttoned up and tight and sealed off to keep every little thing from getting in or out. You know, here they’re open and they let in the breeze and the view of the beach and all, and somehow they let in lizards, but English buildings just don’t do that….as such. But that’s not to say that they’re better. Just that they’re different... It’s odd for an Englishman in a Caribbean building, because it doesn’t make sense that there are no leaks. There should be leaks. Otherwise why are British buildings they way they are?” He stopped, knowing that he had not made his point, but that he could go no further.

  
There was a long silence. Finally she spoke and her expression was hard to read.

  
“Do you want me to bring you your umbrella? You left it in the car.”

  
“No, no. I know there won’t be any leaks. It’s fine.”

  
“Well it’s something to do.” After zipping up her rain jacket, she disappeared outside. Richard sat back at his desk, put his face in his hands and groaned. God, what was he on about? How hard would it have been to say that, in fact, he was starting to like Sant’ Marie very much, thanks.

  
She returned momentarily and paused at the door to shake the water from the umbrella as well as her own jacket. The droplets gathered into an amorphous puddle at the entryway. Richard, for now, pretended not to notice.

  
“There!” she said brightly, leaning the still damp umbrella on the side of his desk. It seemed rather forced, even to his ears. “Now you can keep your precious suits safe, here in this perfectly dry, leak-free building.” Ah yes, there it was.

  
“You can never be too careful.” he replied. Then, after a moment, “Thank you, Camille.”

  
She looked like she might have been about to say something, but right at that moment the phone rang. Richard picked it up immediately.

  
“Sir, it’s Dwayne.” came the voice from the other end. In the background he could hear the rush of rain and knew that his officer was out in the storm. “I’m down by the pier and it looks like some of the fishermen may have found a body.”


	2. Fishers of Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camille's perspective as they go out to answer Dwayne's call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is less fleshed out in terms of character reflection, really just a chapter to move the story along. I will update as often as possible but I have exams for the next week so there likely won't be another chapter until after those are over. Thanks for all the kind words on Chapter One! That encouraged me to keep this story going!

Camille couldn’t help but shudder as she stepped out of the car and onto the pier, but not because of the rain lashing around her- in the few short minutes it had taken them to drive from the station the wind had picked up, hurling raindrops sideways with vicious force. No, what made her shudder was the grim sight ahead.

 

Dwayne and Fidel had done their best to block off the pier to the public, and were talking with a huddle of fishermen as she and Richard pulled up. It was not difficult, as few people were out in the rain. Nevertheless it  _ was _ easy, even from their distance of around 20 meters out, to see what was caught in the net of the boat near which the men stood. The body of a woman, pale and bloated from prolonged exposure to the sea, was tangled in the otherwise empty loops of the net. 

 

“Merde!” Camille whispered to herself, right as Richard came round from the other side of the car. He held the umbrella she had retrieved for him aloft as he stepped gingerly around gathering puddles to protect his shoes. She could tell he was still getting wet, however, as the angle of the rain made the umbrella useless.

 

“What?” he asked, having heard her exclamation. Camille nodded over to the the boat. 

 

“Ah.” His demeanor, moments before one of fussy pedantry, stiffened into grim but sharp professionalism. Even at this distance his eyes scanned the scene hungrily in search of a vital piece to the puzzle. “Well we’d best get her down straight away. That’s obviously not the scene of the death, and we won’t be able to get close enough to observe anything. There’s no point in leaving her hanging.”

 

As they made their way toward the boat, Dwayne pulled away from the interviews to brief them. 

 

“Fishermen were hauling in their catch early today on account of the weather. They weren’t expecting to have caught anything so when they saw her in there it gave them a bit of a fright. Left it pulled up halfway and hightailed it back to the dock. One of the men came running off, saw me and Fidel and flagged us down. We’ve been talking to the rest of the crew.”

 

“Which one was the first to notice the body?” asked Camille.

 

“The man in the orange coat. Name’s Andre Dalcour.”

 

“And the captain?” asked Richard.

 

“Gabriel Vincent. On far right, talking to Fidel.”

 

“Right. Well, finish getting the statements from all of the crew, including the precise whereabouts of the ship when they began hauling up the net. And anywhere else it’s been since they last cast out. Camille, with me.” 

 

They made their way over to the captain. As Richard spoke with him about having the net hauled up so they could remove the body, Camille walked over to the edge of the pier. The net and its contents were far out of reach. The only way to get close look would be to take a smaller boat alongside it. Still, she could see enough. The woman wore an austere one-piece bathing suit, either black or dark blue. Tangled black locks obscured the face, which would have been looking down if it could see. The bare limbs were hanging as loosely and limply as the long dark hair through the holes in the net. Any other details were impossible to determine. Except….

 

“Richard?” Camille called over her shoulder.

 

“What?” He came over to stand beside her, looking out at the net. 

 

“Does it look to you like there is something lodged there, between the shoulder and the strap of the suit?” She leaned closer to him so she could indicate the point with her finger.

 

“Where? Oh, that red bit? Might be. Does anyone have binoculars?” Richard called, squinting. 

 

“I think it’s a piece of paper.”

 

“A piece of paper? How on earth would that survive being hauled out of the ocean into a rainstorm?” 

 

“I don’t know, but look. It’s practically plastered to her arm.” 

 

“Well I guess we’ll find out when we bring her up. Blimey, that’s small. How the devil can you see that?”

 

“I have younger eyes.” 

 

“Younger? What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“And I am a woman, which means I can detect color better than men.”

 

“Hmm well, do your detecting up on the boat, detective. Come on” 

 

As Richard turned his back to her, Camille rolled her eyes. 

They stood on the deck as the net was hauled up the remainder of the way and the body set gently down. Closer inspection revealed that there was indeed something slid between her chest and the front of the suit. The corner of a bright red square of cloth poked out over the shoulder. Squatting over the body, Richard removed it gingerly with gloved hands and held it aloft. 

 

“Not paper.”

 

“At least I could see something.” said Camille, holding out an evidence bag for him. 

 

“Look here. Does that look like some sort of logo to you? Is that a design you recognize, maybe, from somewhere here on the island?

 

He indicated the corner of the cloth, where an elaborate design was embroidered in the same bright red thread as the rest of the fabric. With this closer look she realized that it was part of an intricate border. Perhaps the cloth was a napkin or handkerchief. The design itself was difficult to pick out from the background, but she could just make out what could only be a rising sun. 

 

Recognition came to her instantly.  _ Oh, Richard will love this _ , she thought gleefully. 

 

She looked up at him smirking. When his face fell at her expression, she broke out into a full smile.

 

“What? What is it? Why are you smiling like that?”

 

“Because I do recognize this design. It’s from the House of the Rising Sun.”

 

“What, like the song?” 

 

“No. Better. _ Le boutique diseur de bonne aventure.” _

 

“...you know I don’t know what that means.”

  
“The fortune teller shop.”


	3. The House of the Rising Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camille receives a shock as she and Richard go on an adventure to identify the body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit longer than the other ones. I've already begun on the next chapter so hopefully that will be up soon. Also, I did some googling, and there was a fortune teller on Guadeloupe called Papa Diable sometime in the late nineteenth century, so that's where I stole the name. Thanks for all the kind comments, guys! As usual I appreciate feedback!

Camille was glad to get back into the dryness and warmth of the car, and, by the look of it, so was her boss. Not that he would ever admit to being acclimated to life outside of London. Her attempt this morning to get him to say anything of the kind ended in frustration, as usual.

  
Still, just because he didn’t say anything didn’t mean he wasn’t feeling any differently. She guessed what he had been trying to say when he went on about the buildings. Something about being unable to express emotions because he was so damnably English. She understood, she supposed, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t excruciatingly frustrated with him.

  
He might frustrate her, but the truth was she had never been happier to see anything in her life than his rumpled and angry form as he walked into La Kaz that Friday. It had taken all of her restraint not to run and throw her arms around him.

  
She wasn’t quite sure when it had started. Somewhere in the back of her mind she must have always... liked him? admired him? but she would never forget that night of the Erzulie festival when she saw him sitting out on the patio and her heart-rate shot through the roof. There he was, in his same black suit, calmly reading his book, just being himself. She had thought he was her date, and her heart, instead of rebelling at the thought, had started beating so hard it was all she could hear. Then when he had said she looked stunning, her heart nearly stopped. The disappointment when the truth dawned on her was crushing- surprisingly so. But even more surprising was the fact that she had seen him, out of the corner of her eye, linger for a moment before he left with Fidel. She didn’t pay attention to a thing her actual date said to her, instead playing those few moments over and over in her mind. And then she realized that there was a chance that he might feel the same way, whatever that was. 

  
_Oh who are you kidding?_ she thought to herself. _You have a proper crush, Camille. You think you’re in love with him._

  
The thought made her jump. She had never really admitted that to herself before. Not in such an upfront way, anyway _._

  
“Camille? Are you alright?” Richard asked, breaking her reverie.

  
“What? Yes, I’m fine.”

  
“It’s just you look a little… well I dunno… queasy? And you jumped about a mile when I asked if you wanted me to drive.”

  
“What? I’m sorry I wasn’t listening.”

  
“You really don’t look well. Maybe I should drive.”

  
“No, no I really am fine. Besides you don’t know where we’re going.”

  
“But if you’re not feeling well maybe we should go back to the station and have Dwayne and Fidel check out this fortune teller place.”

  
She wanted to laugh. He really did not want to go. Instead she kept a straight face and said,

  
“You know that they’re still taking statements from the crew.‘This fortune teller place’ is our only lead in identifying the victim-”

  
“We don’t know that she’s a victim. She could have drowned while out for a swim. Or committed suicide.”

  
“Identifying this woman, then. You know we have to go.”

  
“Yes, alright,” he said with a sigh, “But I wasn’t lying about you not looking well, you know. One second you were fine, the next you looked like you’d been kicked in the stomach. Poor weather makes you more susceptible to disease, you know. You sure you aren’t coming down with something nasty? You know...”

  
“I’m starting to think I have, yes” said Camille, slightly under her breath as she started the engine.

  
“...influenza, scarlet fever, malaria, mono, hepatitis- are you up to date on all your shots?”  
  
_So this is the person you decided to be in love with?_ she thought to herself as Richard continued to ramble. She glanced sideways at him and couldn’t help but smirk.

  
“What?” He’d caught her.

  
“Oh nothing. I was just thinking about how much you are going to like Papa Diable.”

  
“....and Papa Diable is?”

  
“The fortune teller, of course.”

  
**************

  
The exterior of the House of the Rising Sun looked like every other shop on the little side street in the main town of Honore. It had a wooden sign hanging over the door decorated with the same sun design as the napkin shoved in an evidence bag in his briefcase, and a small glass window display that was almost tasteful in comparison to some of the other busy displays in town. A few odds and ends sat tamely on a background of red silk, including a pair of earring consisting of bright feathers, and skull carved out of a shell. If he hadn’t known the truth, Richard might have assumed it was some sort of eccentric jeweler.  
  
But the interior was everything Richard feared it would be.

  
As they walked in, a little bell connected to the door rang somewhere in the back.

  
The most immediately apparent sight was the large red silk curtain the went across the entirety of the back wall. A sign in French presumably declared that this was where the actual fortune-telling took place.

  
The small front area was lined with shelves from floor to ceiling on every wall, except the one closest to the door, where a checkout counter was strewn with more merchandise. The most peculiar items conceivable covered every possible surface. Richard noted many of the “voodoo” talismans that were shunted off on tourists as the real deal, but there were also more authentic items, like the sinister-looking books which took up a few shelves in the corner.

  
To Richard’s disgust and horror, along the top shelf that went around the circumference of the room, the taxidermic remains of a very large snake were on display. Richard stopped dead when he saw this, momentarily paralyzed with fear. When he realized it was unlikely to attack, however, he was ready to immediately launch into a tirade.

  
As he began to draw breath, however, he felt Camille’s hand on his arm and turned to look at her.

  
“Let me speak first.” she whispered. She was leaning in rather close, like she had on the dock when she pointed out the cloth. He didn’t know why, but he was always hyper-aware of her proximity. She didn’t have his English sensibilities about personal space, he supposed.

  
He was denied the opportunity to respond because at that moment a tall, well-built man stepped gracefully from behind the curtain. His presence seemed to make the room feel even smaller. He reminded Richard rather of a pirate- he wore a flowy white shirt that was unbuttoned nearly to his navel and tucked into khaki trousers, and a single large earring hung from his left ear in a pointed half-circle. A large tattoo was plainly visible on his chest, once again depicting the rising sun emblem.

  
When he spoke his voice was very deep. Richard could suddenly see how this fellow might make this whole fortune-telling business seem compelling.

  
“ Welcome to my little shop,” he spread his arms wide and smiled even wider. The whole thing seemed rather theatrical. “If you come to seek your destiny, the answers lie in here.”

  
While Richard stifled a snort, Camille smiled back at him. “Actually we wanted your help with something.”

  
“Anything, ma chere. For every woe there is a remedy- struggling marriages, frustrations at work, fears and phobias. If you hand me your palm I can tell you exactly what you need.”

  
“That won’t be necessary,” said Camille, instead holding out her police badge. The smile flickered for a fraction of a second. “We are looking for a woman who may have come to your shop recently.”

  
“There have been many women who have come here.”  
“She had a red cloth with your sun design on it. Can you think of someone who might have had that?”

  
“You mean one of these?” He stepped behind the counter to reveal a large stack of identical red cloths. “I wrap my customers’ purchases in these cloths. There are no doubt many women on the island who have one.”

  
Richard could hold his silence no longer. “Well this woman is now dead. So if you could just think back to the last woman whose death you foretold…”

  
He was cut off by the surreptitious jab of Camille’s elbow into his ribs. It had not been in time, by the looks of it. The smile had completely disappeared from Papa Diable’s face. His arms were folded and he was gazing at Richard with cold hostility.

  
“You are a skeptic, sir. It is not wise to make light of the powers that govern this world. Your skepticism makes you foolish.”

  
“Is that so? Perhaps you’d like to prove it. Tell us who the woman was.”

  
Camille jumped back in.

  
“She was about 5’ 5”, had long dark wavy hair and pale skin. Could have been in here as recently as twenty-four hours ago.”

  
Papa Diable stared at them stonily. Richard sighed and turned toward the door. “Come on, Camille. He has no idea. We’ll tell Dwayne and Fidel to start asking around the hotels to see if she was a tourist.”

  
“She was.” The deep voice made Richard stop in his tracks.

  
“Come again?”

  
“She was a tourist. Come with me.” Abruptly, the man turned and went back behind the curtain.

  
Richard glanced at Camille, eyebrows raised.

  
Camille shrugged.

  
With yet another sigh, Richard gripped the handle of his briefcase tighter and pushed aside the curtain.

 


	4. Much Ado About Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fortune teller tells a fortune and Richard and Camille finally find out who the body is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter is completely absurd. This is on the shorter side, but it's all important build up. Hopefully it will seem like it's starting to come together. If not, let me know! I always appreciate comments. Also I don't use a beta but I'm starting to think I should so someone can tell me when I'm being utterly ridiculous.

The room beyond was drastically different from the one they had just left. As they entered, the curtain fell behind them making the lighting very dim, but he could tell that it was draped all about with more silk, in various shades of red and purple. Directly across from the opening, Papa Diable sat at a low table cluttered with curios, psychic paraphernalia, and other such hokum.

 

He gestured to two empty seats at the table across from him

 

Richard remained standing.

 

“What do you know about the woman? You said she was a tourist. Can you give us her name? Where she was staying? When she came into your shop, even?”

 

“All will be revealed with time. But first, sit.” The deep voice was even more impressive in the gloom, but it was still with a great deal of reluctance that Richard took the seat to his right. 

 

Camille, with an air of idle curiosity, took the chair on the left, and picked up a small, but heavy-looking crystal ball from the table in front of her. She held it up to the light, apparently admiring the way the light refracted within it. 

 

“Give me your hand.” the fortune teller commanded.

 

Camille turned to look at him, eyes gleaming with amusement. 

 

“No. Absolutely not.” 

 

“If you want to know about the woman, you will give me your hand.”

 

“I am a police officer! I don’t have to participate in your silly charade! Just tell me what you know.”

 

The fortune teller said nothing. 

 

Richard turned to Camille. He felt unable to express his frustration with words. All that came out was a sort of gurgle of annoyance.

 

“Look, if we are going to find out anything from this man today, you may as well do what he wants.” Camille said. She still seemed amused but her voice had a tone of soothing reassurance. “What’s the worst that could happen, anyway?”

 

Rolling his eyes so hard he may well have sprained his ocular muscles, Richard stretched his right hand across the table.

 

Papa Diable took hold of it, running a finger across the open palm. 

 

It was some moments before he spoke. Richard was feeling uncomfortable and impatient. It was taking all of his self-control and not to snatch his hand back and storm out. But Camille, of course, was right. This was their best and only lead in identifying the woman, and he might as well play along. 

 

Finally, the deep voice spoke. It was not loud, but something about it made all others sounds fade away. 

 

“You were a man without a place,” he began, indicating somewhere on the outside of his palm. “Wherever you were, you did not feel you belonged. Now,” he slid his finger further along his hand, “you have found your place, but still you will not embrace it. You think your distance makes you strong, keeps you protected. You are wrong. It is the sign of a beaten man. But here, your future diverges along two paths.”

 

He paused for dramatic effect, no doubt hoping Richard would ask what these two paths were. Richard did not, opting for another eyeroll.

 

“The first,” the fortune teller ploughed on, “is difficult. You must put aside your pride and comfort. You must do what you have never done. Do not let others decide for you.” The other path is death. A swift, but brutal, miserable death, at a time when you are full regret and loneliness. It will be easy for you to go down this one.” He gave Richard a wicked smile. ““Beware, for there is nothing so dangerous as unrequited love.”

 

The stillness of the room was broken by a loud bang. Richard turned to see that Camille had dropped the crystal ball she was holding. She knelt on the floor to stop it as it began to roll under the desk. 

 

“Yes, alright, have you quite finished?” said Richard, yanking his hand from the fortune teller’s grip. He felt angry, angry at this man for making him go through this whole moronic display, for saying such vague inanity.  And he was angry at himself- his own heart rate for speeding up and his breath for catching in his chest as if the man were speaking truths worth acknowledging. 

“I’ve gone along with your...whatever, so now tell me what you know about the woman with the cloth.”

 

The man leaned back in his chair, looking between Richard and Camille. 

 

“A woman fitting that description came into my shop the day before yesterday. She bought an item. A charm to ward off evil spirits and bring the wearer luck- romantic luck. She was in love with a man but he did not love her back.”

 

“She told you this?” Camille asked.

 

“No. But I could tell.”

 

“Hmm. Did you happen to get her name? Where she was staying? Do you have CCTV we could look at to match her to our body?” Richard asked. This information was doing nothing to improve his peevish mood.

 

“No.”

 

“Right. Well have you got anything useful whatsoever?” he nearly shouted. 

 

“She left her phone here.” He slid a phone that had been sitting near his elbow across the desk. “There is not a passcode. If you want to know what the owner looked like, open the camera roll.”

 

Richard said nothing as Camille took the phone and scrolled through it. 

 

“Look at these selfies,” she said, handing the phone to Richard. “That’s her. This is our Jane Doe.”

 

***********************************************************************************************

It only took a moment or two more of fidgeting with the phone for Camille to determine that it’s owner’s name was Tess Carmichael. They couldn’t get out of the shop fast enough, as far as Richard was concerned, and soon they were on their way back to the station. 

 

The sky had started to clear up, but Richard’s mood did not, and this was not helped by the fact that Camille seemed distracted the whole ride back. Of course she had been distracted as they left the crime scene as well, but this time Richard could not chalk it up to illness. He couldn’t help but feel that it had something to do with the words of that blasted fortune teller. Hadn’t she dropped that crystal ball when the man had said all that nonsense about unrequited love? He hadn’t got a good look at her, but she seemed startled, frightened even, when he said that. That was very out of character. He doubted she was likely to be startled by all that nonsense about two paths and him dying and whatever else the man had come up with. 

 

That bit about unrequited love still  _ was  _ odd. What had he meant by that? Richard supposed that meant he would die from some great unrequited love. Or was it loneliness? Something stupid like that. 

 

But he was not lonely. Not now, anyhow. He thought back to the moment during Hurricane Irma when he and Camille were forced to take shelter at the university. He had made a quip about liking puzzles because they were easy to do on your own. And Camille had said he was not on his own anymore. “You have me.” Those were her exact words.

 

At the time he had not known what to make of it- her companionship and friendship. Now, however, on reflection, he realized just how important that had been for him. He’d grown used to being on his own, but her attempts to bring him out of himself, while frustrating, had been the best thing that ever happened to him. Now, perhaps for the first time in his life, he had a community. People to rely on and to share life’s up and downs with. Of course he was still not very good at doing that, but he had come so far. And it was all thanks to Camille. Bright, strong, curious, frustrating, vivacious, antagonizing, exasperating, intelligent, beautiful Camille. 

 

_ Oh….. _

 

Realization dawned on him like a slap in the face. 

 

_ I’m in love with Camille.  _

 

_ No _ , said a little voice in his brain.  _ No, you’re not. Because that is a very bad idea. You’re friends. You work together. You’re her superior. You can’t be. _

 

_ Except that I am. You heard how I was going on about her just then.  _

 

_ Yes, alright maybe. But you can’t do anything about it.  _

 

_ I...do anything?  _ The very thought gave him a mini-stroke.  _ What would I do? _

 

_ Nevermind that. The fact is you can’t. Besides you saw how she reacted to the idea of you being in love with her in the shop. She put a dent in the floor out of sheer terror. _

 

_ Was that what that was? But how did she know it was about her? _

 

_ She probably knew you were in love with her ages before you did. _

 

_ Oh.  _

 

_ And the last thing you should do is anything rash or you’ll frighten her off for good.  _

 

_ Oh. _

 

Richard had the feeling he was losing a conversation with himself, and he was spared having to continue it because at that moment they arrived at the station.  _ Just focus on the case. _


	5. The Cast of Characters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camille and Richard go to interview those who knew the victim while trying to ignore their problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY It's been so long since I updated but I'm out of school for the next month or so, so hopefully I'll update it every week. I finally figured out where this story is going so *yay!*  
> This chapter is the necessary boring set up stuff BUT I will update soon!  
> As always I so so so appreciate feedback so please tell me what you think! Thanks to everyone who commented or left kudos during my hiatus. You guys keep me going!

They were greeted back at the station by news from Fidel. Further examination of the body revealed a heavy blow to the back of the head, formerly obscured by all of her hair. Any blood that might have been on it was washed away in the sea. A full autopsy would be needed to determine if that was indeed what had killed her, but for the time being they would treat the case as murder. 

There was nothing like throwing himself into a case to provide the necessary complete and total distraction from his internal monologue. 

After acquiring the victim’s phone it was easy enough to determine who she was. Tess Carmichael, 24, UK citizen. She was staying with a local married couple at their villa, in a remote neighborhood with one side facing the jungle and the other facing the beach. It was in this villa that he and Camille now sat, talking to the owners, John and Monica Preston. The drive over had been silent. 

“So tell us,” began Camille. They had just broken the news, and the Prestons had seemed suitably shocked. Camille sat on their pristine white sofa while Richard hung back looking at the photographs and curios on the living room wall, “how did Tess come to be staying with you here on St. Marie? According to her records her residence is in London.”

“Yes, she lives in London, but she came down to stay with us at the start of the summer,” said Mrs. Preston. She still seemed quite agitated from the news. “She’s close friends with my sister, Olivia. Liv usually comes down in the summers, but this year she was terribly busy at work. Couldn’t get away. But she suggested we invite Tess to come down and stay with us instead. She said she,Tess, had just been through a terrible breakup and a change of scenery might do her a bit of good.”

“Had you met Tess before?”

“Yes I’d met her once or twice when we went back London. And of course Liv adores her and we have all this spare room. So I agreed.”

“I see. And had you ever met this boyfriend of hers? Do you know anything about this break up?”

“I met him once when we all went out together. He was a tall skinny Irish chap. Tess was enamored with him. But from what Olivia told me I got the sense that he had cheated on her, so she dumped him.”

“Do you recall his name?”

“I know it was Liam. And his last name was something like Hannigan or Flannigan. But,” She looked from Camille to Richard, who was now sitting on the furthest edge of the sofa as he could be from Camille. “He couldn’t possibly be involved! She left him in London months ago!”

“Quite.” Richard said, interrupting Camille who seemed to want to press the point. “What about more recently? Who did she interact with on the island, besides yourselves of course. Who did she see the most of in the past few weeks, for instance?”

“Honestly,” this was John who spoke now, “she hardly interacted with us at all. She kept to herself mostly. Went about on her own a lot. She had a job with a local tour company writing brochures and that sort of thing. So she went to work in the day and did God know’s what at night. Most days we never even saw her.”

“What was the name of the place where she worked?”

“Um. East Wind Caribbean Travel. Something like that.”

“I know the place,” said Camille.

“As for the last few weeks,” continued Monica, “Olivia and her fiance came down earlier this week and surprised her. Liv just left yesterday morning, but Leanne, her fiance, is still staying with us. She’s out now but we can call you when she’s back.”

“A surprise, you say?”

“Yes. Thursday was Tess’s birthday. The girls came down to help her celebrate. And the neighbor ended up throwing her a massive party. It was a miracle Liv was able to catch her flight the next morning.”

“So when was the last time you saw Tess?”

“Yesterday. Friday morning. We all went out to Liv’s cab to hug her goodbye and wish her a safe flight back.”

“And you said the neighbor threw her a party?” 

“Yes,” said John, with something of a sneer. “Sir Nigel Morrison. Lives just round the bend in the white villa. I suppose he’d taken quite a liking to Tess. Always offered to let her use his private beach, came calling with pretenses, but of course it was always to see her. Then, when he’d heard she had friends in town for her birthday he offered to throw her a party. And good on him, it was a right cracker. He’s dreadfully rich, you know. Invited the whole island practically. Apparently back in the UK he invented something vacuum piece or other. Earned him a knighthood and zillions of pounds. I still think he’s an old creep though.”  
“Did Tess think he was an old creep?” asked Camille, eyebrows raised.

“Dunno really. If she did, she hid it well. After all the man’s loaded-”

“John.” His wife cut him off indignantly.

John looked apologetic. “I don’t mean to insinuate anything about Tess. I simply mean that Sir Nigel paid her a lot of attention, and she was a smart enough girl not to be rude to him.”

****************************************************************

Richard seemed lost in reverie as they walked back to the car down the Preston’s long drive. The rain was now a gentle but persistent drizzle, though the sun began poking out on the Western horizon. Camille did not want to break Richard’s concentration, but she felt there was an important point to be raised.

She looked at him. He seemed to have been avoiding conversation with her all afternoon - ever since they had left the fortune teller. She wondered if he had made the connection, had figured out why the fortune teller’s words had shocked her so much she dropped the crystal ball. 

She didn’t truly know herself.. As the day progressed she had begun to realize that she had been in love with Richard for a lot longer than she had been prepared to admit. But, in all likelihood, he didn’t, couldn’t, feel the same way about her. Maybe that’s why he was avoiding her. Because he had realized how she felt and was too embarrassed to reject her. She felt humiliated. Of course he didn’t care about her like that. He cared about his puzzles, like the case he was currently so absorbed in he couldn’ even look at her. 

“What?”

Of course the moment she thought that he would look up. From his startled expression she imagined that some of her thoughts were painted clearly on her face. Good. Let him squirm. 

“I’ve been thinking,” she said as the came up to the car. “Obviously we ought to go pay this Sir Nigel a visit, seeing as how he’s right down the road.”

“Obviously,” Richard echoed. He hadn’t quite shaken his startled look.

“But don’t you think John Preston was trying a little too hard to make him seem suspicious?”

“Ah.” He gave the slightest smirk. “I do indeed. He spoke quite bitterly about Sir Nigel’s relationship with the victim. It almost makes one think he was jealous.” He did his characteristic little eyebrow raise and Camille felt some of the resentment in her heart slide away as they climbed into the Land Rover.  
“So, we have a bit of a timeline.” said Camille “Tess Carmichael goes to the fortune teller shop alone the morning of her birthday, Thursday, to buy a talisman to ward off evil spirits and bring romantic luck. Papa Diable says she loved a man who didn’t love her back. Her ex-boyfriend?”

“That’s nothing more than absurd guesswork on his part. And what is it with you and the boyfriend. For all we know he’s been in London this whole time.”

“For all we know he followed her to St. Marie.”

“Possibly, but that seems unlikely for the time being. Anyway, that night she goes to her birthday party at Sir Nigel’s house. The Prestons, Sir Nigel, Olivia, and Leanne are all there, along with countless other guests. Then she is seen the next morning seeing her friend off. According to the Prestons, Olivia’s flight was at 930 AM, so she must have left quite early in the morning. We should get Dwayne or Fidel to check with the airport and make sure she was on that flight. And actually they should run checks on everyone we’ve got so far to see if anything pops up.”

“Do we think something happened the night of the party? An argument or something that led someone to kill her the next day?”

“Possibly, but it would be useful if we knew precisely when she was killed. But there’s something that’s strange. Why would she go to Papa Diable’s on her birthday? By herself? And then she forgot her phone. Was she always so careless? Apparently she never went back to retrieve it despite it being gone at least a day. What 24-year-old goes a day without their phone?”

“Birthdays can cause people to be reflective. Maybe that’s why she went to the shop. And maybe she got caught up in all the preparations for the party but was planning to go back when she had time.”

“Maybe she did go back,” said Richard darkly. “We should have asked this Papa Diable a lot more questions. For all we bloody know he took her phone off of her when he killed her and she’d never even been to his shop. He was trying to spook us so we would get out of there.”

By now they had reached the house and were sitting in the drive, the car still running, lost in their own conversation. 

“Were you?” Camille asked.

“Was I what?”

“Spooked?” 

Richard’s face plummeted into frown, as if he had suddenly been reminded of something very unpleasant that he had, up until now, been successfully ignoring.

“I….well I wouldn’t say spooked but. Well, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I wanted to leave right after….”

“But that wasn’t the prophecy. You wanted to leave the moment you walked in.”

“Quite right too. That snake of his was downright unhygienic. And who knows what other nasty things were tucked away on the shelves. We’ll have him come down to the station and give his statement because there’s no way I’m going back in there.”

Camille frowned. He was avoiding the question she had tried to ask him, in her own round about way: whether he had interpreted anything from the prophecy. But his very avoidance made her feel like he had.

 

As he spoke a man came down the drive from the house. He was perhaps in his late thirties or early forties with neatly combed reddish brown hair and square-framed glasses. He wore loafers, slacks and a checked dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He seemed concerned. 

“Can I help you with anything?” He asked, coming up to the driver’s side window where Camille sat. “I saw your car pull into the drive. It says Police,” he said, indicating the side of the car as if its occupants might be unaware of its paint job.

“Are you Sir Nigel Morrison?” Camille asked.

“Yes.”

“May we come inside for a moment?”

His brow furrowed and the worried expression deepened. “Certainly.”

The followed Sir Nigel up the drive and into a large airy sitting room in the front of the house. It was nearly as full of plant life as the front garden. 

“You’ll excuse me.” He said, gesturing to the growth. “Botany is a passion of mine, though I’m a physicist by training. Now what’s all this about?” During the walk up he seemed to have adopted an air of false cheeriness or nonchalance, but Camille could tell he was still quite anxious. 

“I’m afraid we’re here because your neighbor, Tess Carmichael, was found dead this morning.”

“What?” Camille could practically see the news hit him and knock the wind out of him. His face crumpled. He reached behind him as if he were trying to sit down, but there was no chair behind him. She and Richard both ran forward and guided him to a seat.


End file.
